


you must like me for me (yeah i want you)

by kaermorons



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-typical bathing, Fluff, Gift Giving, Hand Feeding, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slice of Life, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:26:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28395336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaermorons/pseuds/kaermorons
Summary: Geralt sometimes feels like the love and warmth he has in winter is just a dream. He wonders if it's real the whole time he walks the Path. Best not to look a gift wyvern in the mouth, though.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert
Comments: 10
Kudos: 69
Collections: The Witcher Secret Santa 2020





	you must like me for me (yeah i want you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anarchycox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anarchycox/gifts).



> When I got the email that said you were my giftee, I literally laughed my head off and spent the next two months trying not to give away the secret. Happy holidays!! <3

Lambert always left Kaer Morhen first. The pass was still entrenched with snow, but he had his bombs, and if worse came to worst, Igni would light his way like it always had. He went on foot, drawling out his distaste of having someone to rely on and to rely on him in return, even if it would save his tired legs at the end of the day. He’d bought - actually bought - enchanted boots that never wore thin like the others, and he was determined to get his money’s worth. He always tried to set out before the sun rose, to watch the grasp of night slowly weaken through the trees as the day dawned, and him within it.

His attempts at disappearing in the night were never unobserved, however. Three pairs of golden eyes watched his descent down the main road from the keep, before two of those pairs turned away at the first turn that concealed his journey, the morning still too chilly to be considered merely brisk. One silent watcher kept his post, however, catching glimpses of the man’s trek down the clearly-defined, decades-trodden trail from the keep. It usually took three days down the mountain for even a Witcher’s eyesight to fail at tracking its quarry.

And Geralt’s eyes never once left him.

There were moments where Geralt doubted winters had even happened at Kaer Morhen, that the affection and touches and kind, soft words were just his imagination dealing with the aloof nature Lambert always put on at the beginning of spring. Imagine a better life, because you’re not going to get one, and all that horseshit.

Geralt made himself wait until Lambert had very definitely made his way off the mountain before packing up his own things, if the weather permitted. He wasn’t following him, of course, but the castle was just that much colder without the smirk-lipped man there to keep him warm while the wind howled and the snow snarled. Once again, there were two sets of eyes watching him, until he made the turn, and they turned away. Geralt spared one more look at the old keep, some pile of stones that didn’t mean home, but was where he had home.

And then he’d go. It became easier and easier for him to slot picking up Jaskier into his schedule, as he gathered start-of-season supplies. Enchantments and rations in Novigrad, his bard in Oxenfurt, some healing supplies from one particular hut along the Pontar.

Days passed too slowly without Lambert making fun of something. Jaskier was too polite, too refined to actually say the crass joke they were both thinking. Even Eskel, when he ran into the man, was as unchanging as a mountain, and just as unshakeable. It was no wonder he prowled the keep like an antsy panther before Lambert showed up. He was missing a part of him.

It was in the southern tip of Kaedwen where Geralt found Lambert. Jaskier was luckily away for some festival or another, and with summer in full swing, Geralt found himself grateful for the warmth, but it wasn’t a fire in a hearth he knew each crack of by heart. It was enough, though. Geralt wasn’t following Lambert, but when he’d heard “witcher” and “crazy” and “probably dead” in an old tavern, he knew the signs as well as if he’d been tracking a wyvern.

Lambert was, coincidentally, fighting a wyvern, and losing, when Geralt came upon him. He unsheathed his silver sword and prowled forward. The two were too wrapped in battle, too close, for Geralt to afford Lambert a distraction. When he found his in, he fired a crossbow bolt at the beast’s head, at least stunning it while Lambert found his bearings.

From just the cursory glance, Geralt could tell he hadn’t been eating well, and that the wyvern had injured his hand in the skirmish. On top of the other reckless Lambertisms he adhered to on the Path, like the sleepless circles around his eyes, the drawn tension in his shoulders speaking of desperation for victory, the worn look to his clothes telling of no time to waste on himself.

The younger witcher let out a snort. “Of course you’re here.”

“Good to see you too,” Geralt said with a roll of his eyes.

“Go ahead and step back, I’ve got this under control,” Lambert insisted, though he was obviously favoring his left hand.

“Sure. And when you lose that hand, you’ll have it half under control.”

“Oh, fine. Stay alert. I think there’s a mate.”

“You think there’s a—!?”

Just then, a second screech joined the first, the stunned wyvern having recovered. Geralt thought quickly, but Lambert had the advantage of already being in battle. He cast out with his left hand, pushing the wyvern back with an Aard, before charging the off-balance creature. Geralt did the same on the other wyvern, grounding it with a few crossbow bolts to its wings.

_ Fuck, I need to get better at aiming this thing. _

The battle was difficult, but decisive when, after Geralt had taken the head of the second wyvern, Lambert had dropped a delayed-fuse bomb into the mouth of the first. They ran, but within a few seconds, were covered with wyvern innards. They spent several minutes heaving at the smell, but they were safe, and neither had sustained more injuries than a few bruises.

“See?” Lambert panted, a beautiful smile on his face, cutting through the gore across it. “Under control.”

In awe of him, as always, Geralt shook his head and wiped the mess off his face. “Come kiss me, you bastard.”

Lambert’s ears went a shade of red that had nothing to do with the flesh and blood on his face. He drifted over to Geralt as if pulled by a string, and they shared a quick, chaste kiss, blessedly free of gore. That longing and ache in his chest dissipated just a little. “Let’s go back to the inn. They promised a room. This is still just my contract.”

“Would’ve been just your grave, too,” Geralt said, receiving a smack to the arm for his troubles. “I’ll buy dinner. And a bath.”

Geralt didn’t want to acknowledge how hard the Path was on Lambert, not outside of Kaer Morhen when they could be free about it for as long as they wanted, but the many bowls of stew and bread he pressed on the man were enough. Geralt knew Lambert was the one who brought back the most supplies every winter, but it wore him to the bone each year. It frustrated Geralt each day, until he couldn’t count the other Witcher’s ribs with his eyes. 

“Where’d you learn that trick with the gag reflex on the wyvern?”

“Same place I learned it on me,” Lambert said airily, making Geralt nearly inhale his beer. “Maybe I can show you later.”

“Fuck’s sake, Lambert,” Geralt laughed.

“‘Scuse me, are you the White Wolf?” a timid voice asked from the side. A boy, too young to be eating here, probably the innkeep’s son, stood almost behind a nearby column.

“My name is Geralt,” he answered, keeping his voice calm and even, a little higher than he usually did. Lambert had seen how Geralt changed when talking to children. It was sweet and kind and all the things people didn’t believe a Witcher could be. Lambert was happy to be able to see it this time. The boy’s eyes sparkled in awe, and he took a little step out from the side. “What’s your name?”

“Mardi,” the child said. “Can I see the silver sword?”

“It’s a little dirty right now, I’ve got this dagger, though.” Geralt shot Lambert an apologetic look, but still looked secretly pleased that the child had approached him without fear.  _ Perhaps that bard is doing some good, _ Lambert thought to himself. Geralt pointed out the runes on the hilt, and showed off how they glowed when he spoke an incantation over them. “A sorceress I saved gave this to me as a gift.”

“If you saved me, I’d give you the butcher knife in the kitchen!” the boy declared. Geralt gave a closed-lip smile. His fangs were a little scary, even for eager children who play at slaying monsters with their friends.

“I would appreciate that very much, Mardi. I’m sure I’d just be happy if you stayed out of any situation that would warrant a Witcher’s saving from.”

Lambert saw reverence shine from the boy’s face, and his own ragged heart warmed at the sight. Geralt deserved love and affection, more than most, and had been only given scorn, more than most in that as well.

“This is my friend Lambert. I’ve known him since he was your age,” Geralt said, swinging his smile back over the table to an unprepared Lambert. He hid his face in his mug.

“Geralt…” Lambert protested.

“He killed the wyverns that were in the forest today,” Geralt told Mardi, a little conspiratorially. As standoffish as Geralt liked to think of himself, he was really quite good at stepping in and fulfilling social niceties. Maybe it was just dealing with pompous nobles that made him all stony and cold.

“Wow,” Mardi said, his adoration turning like a beam from a lighthouse. Lambert ducked his head a little, but acknowledged it.

“I am competent sometimes, you know.”

“I do,” Geralt said. “I do.”

The room they got was significantly better than the one Lambert would have gotten alone. Geralt had become a bit better of a negotiator since walking the Path with Jaskier, and knew that crossing his arms and glaring went a long way with the right person. Lambert whistled when he dropped his things to the floor, looking around at the swept floors, the comfortable carpet, the large tub behind a screen…

The one bed.

“He almost pissed himself when I pressed the issue. It’s the nicest room, but it’s also the one-beddiest room,” Geralt explained, dropping his saddlebags next to Lambert’s.

“Well, if it’s comfortable and you don’t snore, I think I’ll be able to get a few hours’ rest.”

“Hey,” Geralt said gently. Lambert looked at him, and was pulled into another kiss, this time with an embrace that made his knees weak.

“Hey,” Lambert said, when Geralt pulled back.

“Relax a bit for me? You should patch up your hand.” Geralt took a step backwards toward the door, like he didn’t want to look away from Lambert, though his mind had priorities elsewhere.

“Don’t have to tell me twice. ‘Sides. It’s a scratch.” Geralt didn’t argue with him. He didn’t want to waste the time they had together on harsh words and empty nastiness. He turned away to return down to the tavern floor, and left Lambert to patch himself up. He ordered a bath and two small trays of snacks, things they could pack away and ration for later easily, like cheeses and cured meats. Though he didn’t order any, they both came with two large, if weak, tankards of ale. It’d do. Geralt amused himself with keeping his face neutral to the peace offering from the tavern owner, but he shared a wink with Mardi as he passed by. He smirked to himself when he was finally back up in their room, balancing the food in his hands while knocking with his foot.

When Lambert opened the door, he’d taken off his shirt and jacket, revealing a poorly-bound chest and an even shittier-bandaged hand. “You planning on eating all of that? We just had dinner,” Lambert said, drawing Geralt’s attention away.

It didn’t work. “We are. Some’s for later. Let me rebandage those for you.”

“Fine.”

When Geralt sat down and pulled the chest wrappings away, it showed an almost-healed gash that must have given Lambert trouble on every hunt since he got it. “What did this?”

“Fearsome creature. Almost unkillable. It’s called a Lambert.”

Geralt shook his head with a smile. “You know, it’s always amazed me that you can be so competent, but only when you’re not thinking about it.”

“I’m competent all the time, but my bad luck is also pretty consistent.” They met each other’s rolling eyes. They didn’t really believe in luck. It’d been something of a joke they shared through all the years together. “I tripped.”

“On what?”

“Thin air.”

“Then what did this?”

“I was carrying a knife in my arms, trying to get something out of my pockets at the same time.”

“There it is.”

A knock at the door sounded, and for the next fifteen minutes, hot water was brought in to fill the bath. Geralt tipped the terrified inn workers and locked the door. “You need it more than I do. Get in.”

“Play doctor with me after?” Lambert smirked.

“Only if you’re good.” Geralt’s hand ghosted a little over the side of Lambert’s face, fond and still disbelieving that they’d ran into one another on the Path.

“You know, I’m not a toddler, you don’t have to follow me to the bath to make sure I scrub behind my ears.” Lambert stripped out of the rest of his clothes so he had an excuse to hide his reddening ears.

“You never scrub behind your ears.”

“Alright, that’s fair.” They gathered near the tub, their toiletries stacked on the low bench beside it. When Lambert’s back touched the hot water, he groaned. “Almost like home, when I close my eyes.”

Geralt said nothing about it, knowing the sentiment well. He washed Lambert’s hair, taking care to tickle behind his ears, and worked out the muscles in his shoulders. He took care washing Lambert’s wounds, and checked over the injury in his hand. It was an annoying sprain at most, and would be fine by morning.

“How’s your season going, then?” Lambert asked. He kept his eyes shut, for this all felt too much like a dream to accept as reality.

“It’s been dull. Lotta cold nights lately.” Geralt spoke of the last hunt he’d been on, just north of where they were now.

“Well it looks like I’ll have to change direction, with you clearing out all the contracts in my way.”

“Maybe we could walk together, til they get a bit more popular. End of summer means lots of monster babies.” Geralt stood, and readied a bit of medical supplies for after Lambert got out of the bath. The bastard seemed to be keen on taking his time soaking, however, so Geralt brought over the cheese and bread and meat. “Open up.”

“Wha—!” Lambert got a mouth full of bread, and had to chew to not choke. “You asshole.”

“Quiet, it’s romantic.”

“Choking a man in a bath is romantic?”

“Yes,” Geralt deadpanned. He fed Lambert his share of the food, until he wanted his turn in the bath. Lambert lay on the bed, completely nude and drying off in the sheets like a bastard. “There’s more food and ale on the table,” Geralt said, not indulging as he’d do if he were alone. He washed himself well, and stood, remaining naked like Lambert.

Geralt wrapped Lambert’s hand, running the tips of his fingers over where it was most sensitive and ticklish. Lambert flicked him in the forehead, but allowed himself to be patched up. It was hard to do it himself, especially on his hand, since he only had one other to work with.

“Oh. I remembered. I got you something.” Lambert stood after the gash on his side was patched up, and bent over his bags. He knew he was putting on a good show for Geralt, who gave a hum of appreciation, as if on cue.

Lambert stood again, and brought the item over. “Saw this in a stall in a town not too south of here. They were making them for practically nothing, painted right over another one for a few crowns.”

It was a Gwent card, the backing showing it was part of a Monsters pack, one that Lambert typically favored. Geralt usually ran with a Northern Kingdoms pack, but had been growing quite a little collection to impress Lambert with, and offer as bets when the coin ran out in wintertime. On the other side of the card, there was a fierce, but incredibly detailed drawing of Geralt. “The artist said he’d seen you once or twice, always running through the woods, eyes black as night, hair white as snow, that’s what he said.”

Geralt looked closer at it. The miniature portrait had been sealed in a thin lacquer, leaving the surface shiny and smooth. “Damn, Lambert,” Geralt said with a grin. “This is incredible.”

“Don’t start cryin’ on me,” Lambert drawled, blushing around the ears just a little bit. “Was happy to get it. Even if you didn’t want it, at least it’d keep your ugly mug on my mind from time to time.”

“Aw, my mug’s on your mind?” Geralt smirked, setting the gift down carefully, to be put with his other precious cards, the kinds he kept for tournaments.

“Well, now it’s not.” Lambert was turned in the circle of Geralt’s arms and pulled close. “Cuz you just—”

Geralt cut him off with a kiss. He knew it was unfair, in a way, but he also knew Lambert liked when he was demanding and sure of what he wanted. Geralt cupped his face, holding him there so he could see him. “I miss you too, you know. Out on the Path.”

“You’ve got that bard—”

“He’s not you. Is it so hard to believe that I enjoy your company?”

“Everyone else seems to tolerate it.” Lambert shrugged.

“When have I ever been like everyone else?”

“Alright, Mr. Ego,” Lambert finally laughed, bringing his gaze up to look at Geralt’s again. “Save it for winter, eh?”

“It’s pretty cold tonight. Could always pretend it’s winter, that the walls are stone instead of wood, that the rain isn’t rain, it’s snow. That this,” Geralt pushed him back onto the bed, gentle enough that Lambert could have stopped himself if he wanted. “Is my bed, and you’re still just as stubborn getting into it as you are getting out of it.”

Lambert watched him with a new look in his eyes, something having worked itself out in his brilliant mind. “Okay,” he said in a whisper. “We can pretend.”

After, Geralt rolled off and they both caught their breath, panting up at the ceiling, long after the candles had been snuffed out. Several minutes passed in silence, and Lambert thought Geralt had merely gone to sleep, until he spoke.

“Monsters, though?”

“My monster.”

In the morning, they walked together.


End file.
